


halfway on a slow move

by dandrogynous



Series: self-made man [3]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Dan Howell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandrogynous/pseuds/dandrogynous
Summary: T makes sex so much more intense. Like his whole body has been reduced to the four centimetres of skin and nerves between his legs and the heat that’s been bubbling in his stomach all morning.





	halfway on a slow move

**Author's Note:**

> continuation of the self made man verse, can be read alone as this is pwp
> 
> not sharing this on tumblr due to the proliferation of minors. also, [here's a resource](http://theartoftransliness.com/post/17587961528/safer-sex-and-contraception-for-trans-guys) on safe sex for transmasc individuals, be smart, etc.
> 
> i’m dandrogynous on tumblr and i’m a certified gay trans man so if you have questions be respectful but feel free to ask i guess
> 
> title from pink + white by frank ocean as always

Dan wakes up sticky and sweaty and so horny he could die.

He's been feeling like that a lot lately - on edge, his mind almost blurry, his skin too hot and his pulse racing a little too fast. Like he's growing out of his own body, too big inside.

It’s good, though. It means the testosterone is still working.

There are other indicators - his voice, hanging deep in his chest, and the easy strength in his arms, and the raspy stubble that shows up in shadows across his jaw after a few days - but this is the most persistent of any of them. This _want_ , pressing and nebulous and constant, like he's a teenager again. Like he’ll come in his shorts if Phil so much as holds his hand.

Phil is still sleeping. Dan rolls onto his side to look at him and squirms, shuddering with it, at the way the insides of his thighs press together and send heat shivering up his spine. He reaches out and trails a finger down the soft plane of Phil’s bare chest - freckles and moles, dark hair wisping down around his nipples and at the middle of his breastbone.

Phil shifts at the touch, shuffles and sighs. His mouth is hanging open a little, his breath coming in small puffs, one hand tossed across the bed onto Dan’s side. Dan drags his finger back up and then splays his whole hand out against Phil’s sternum, the tip of his middle finger resting in the hollow of his throat, tapping there, gentle.

“Phil,” Dan says softly. His voice rumbles in his chest, morning-low. Phil hums and stirs slightly, then sighs and sinks a little deeper into his pillow. His hair is sticking up all over the place, soft and feathery and shining slightly, still clean from the shower he took last night. “Phil, are you awake?”

Dan knows he's not. He doesn't really need to ask to know. But it feels politer this way, less clingy and annoying.

“Mm.” Phil sighs and yawns a little; purses his lips like he's expecting a kiss and then wrinkles his nose and opens his eyes. “What?”

Dan crawls closer to Phil, props an elbow on either side of his head. Leans down and bumps their foreheads together instead of saying anything.

“Hi,” Phil says, and yawns again, wide, his breath morning-stale. Dan wrinkles his nose. His own breath probably isn’t much better, but he doesn’t care if Phil doesn’t. There are other priorities at stake here.

“We have hours and hours before we have to do anything,” Dan announces, and crawls a little further on top of Phil, who hums and runs his hands under Dan’s hoodie and up his back. Wind rattles the window and the room is filled with the weird half-light of morning through the curtains. Dan wishes they could skip all their responsibilities today and just stay here, sprawled across Phil’s ugly wicker bed together, not bothering with anything, anyone, else. The outside world is huge and irritating, and it’s quiet and calm in here.

“You are a terrible influence,” Phil tells him, but then he takes Dan’s jaw in his hands and pulls him down for a long slow kiss.

Phil is the best at this. Dan’s kissed a total of, like, six people in his life, to be fair, and most of those were before he even turned 15 and barely count at all, but Phil is still the best at this, his tongue too clever for Dan’s health. His hands all over, cupping the back of his head and the sides of his face and the sharp point of his shoulder blade, and all Dan can think of is how much he’d like for Phil to touch him elsewhere.

He rolls his hips and Phil closes his eyes, swallowing hard. The bob of his Adam’s apple just spurs Dan on.

“Are you awake enough to fuck me?” he asks. Phil snorts. He curls his fingertips against the back of Dan’s head and Dan thinks, _I need a haircut_ , and then, _focus_.

“I am now,” Phil says, pushing gently on Dan’s head so Dan leans down and kisses him again. He puts one hand in Phil’s hair the way Phil likes and presses the other hand firmly down on Phil’s hip. The hint of pressure always kicks Phil up a notch, makes his cheeks go pink.

Dan’s been ready to go since he woke up. Since before that, probably. He just wants Phil there, too. He tries to kiss a little fuller, focusing more on the pull and the rhythm of their lips, and then something clicks and it gets easier and he’s lost in it.

“You're so fucking hot, Dan, _god_ ,” Phil says against Dan’s mouth after a few minutes, or maybe several years. He’s breathless. Dan closes his eyes helplessly and snaps his hips down to Phil’s - he can feel Phil pressing half-hard against the inside of his thigh.

“God, come on,” he groans. “Come _on_ , Phil, please.”

“You'll kill me,” Phil laughs, and presses his open mouth to the side of Dan's neck.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan pants. His hands are everywhere, sliding up Phil’s back and down his sides, his stomach, his bum. His head is everywhere, too. He feels like he's falling. “Hurry up, come on.”

Heat simmers under his skin and in the cradle of his hips, urging him on. Sweat is beginning to prickle up on his back. He wishes he hadn’t worn a hoodie to bed. There’s too many layers between Phil’s skin and his own.

Dan lifts his hips a little so Phil can get on with it. His boxers are blue, and orange, and Phil’s.

“These are mine,” Phil says. He shakes his head and smiles, pleased. Leans in and bites Dan’s hipbone, a soft sinking of teeth.

“Mine now,” Dan squeaks, twitching his hip away, reaching to cup Phil’s face in his hands and lead him up to his mouth. “God.” He’s breathless. Phil is laughing. “I hate you.”

They kiss again. They're always kissing. It's Dan’s favourite thing, out of all the things they do. The practised back-and-forth of it; Phil’s mouth all sweet and red and familiar on his own. Phil’s fingers slipping under the hem of his shorts and up the inside of his thigh.

He whines low in his throat when Phil stops, his hand _just_ there - another centimetre or two and Dan would be gone. He's very nearly gone as it is.

Their mouths press slick and hot against each other. It makes everything else easier, gives them a base to work from. Dan pushes his hips up to bump them against the growing tent in Phil’s shorts.

“I want you inside me,” Dan whines. His hips push up again, grinding his crotch against Phil’s hard-on. Their mouths keep missing each other.

“You always want me inside you.” Phil is breathless, kissing him back at last. “I want you to be inside _me_.”

Dan was turned on before, but that was nothing compared to now. His brain leaps ahead of itself, supplying a helpful slideshow of images - Phil on his back beneath him again, but different, better, the way it should be. Phil’s mouth dropping open as Dan pushes into him, kisses him hard, comes inside -

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, the word ripped out of him, his fingers scrabbling at the hem of his hoodie. He can’t even think. His brain is firing synapses into nothing as he tugs the sweatshirt over his head.

“We could get a thing,” Phil offers, shimmying out of his t-shirt so he’s only in his shorts. It’s undignified, the two of them attached at the mouth and fumbling like this, but neither of them can find it in themselves to care.

Dan throws his hoodie and Phil’s t-shirt off of the bed. “A thing?”

“Like - ” Phil pauses and pulls back from Dan slightly. His fingertips brush back and forth against the soft skin of his lower back, sparks shooting up. “Like a strap-on?”

It’s too much. Dan drops his head forward to lean on Phil’s collarbone, his breath heavy, catching on itself. Phil’s blunt nails keep dragging gently against his back, keeping his brain fuzzy and all over the place.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he mumbles against the skin of Phil’s shoulder. He wants to fuck Phil so _bad_. If he had a dick it wouldn’t be an issue, but -

Fog swirls up in his stomach, an empty pit of threatening dysphoria and the depression that comes with it, but he grabs it and shoves it down and sits back to look into Phil’s eyes. “I want one. Can we _please_  get one.”

Phil nods. Dan kisses him hard, determined to leave the threatening hollowness behind. Sex is so hard sometimes. At least his next shot is tomorrow.

Phil must have noticed Dan’s sudden panic, because he’s sitting back and pushing on Dan’s shoulders so they’re eye-to-eye. He’s used to this by now. He knows what to say. “Do you want to keep going?”

Dan nods. He genuinely does. He’s sick of feeling this way when he’s put so much work into himself, and he just got approved for most physical activity post-op by his doctor, and he deserves to have hot wonderful sex with his boyfriend. He deserves to feel good, today.

“Okay.” Phil nods and kisses him again. Dan melts down into it, and after a while his brain gently forgets where his skin ends and Phil’s begins.

Once there’s a rhythm to it, sex is easy. Sex with Phil is _so_  easy, their bodies working as well together as their brains do, communicative and well-practised over the years. Dan knows just what Phil likes, knows how to press and pull and mumble so Phil shakes and pants in his arms, and Phil knows how to make him a mess, too.

He’s making Dan a mess now, his palm pressed against the inside of Dan’s thigh and his thumb working at the head of Dan’s dick through his boxers. Dan is hard and blurry-headed and gasping. He won’t last much longer, not like this, and Phil hasn’t even got him naked yet.

“Can I?” Phil asks. Dan’s hand is twisted into his hair and he tugs a little as he hums a yes, pleasure fluttering in his stomach when he sees Phil’s eyes fall briefly closed at the pressure. At Dan’s go-ahead Phil pulls Dan’s boxers down and kisses the crease of his thigh, the top of his pubic bone. Dan’s breath keeps catching. It’s loud in his ears, ragged, but he sounds like a boy and his dick is hard and Phil is just _looking_  at him and it’s so fucking hot.

“Come on,” Phil says, wrapping his hands around Dan’s hips and tugging him to the edge of the bed. “I’m gonna suck you off.”

And then he does, Dan’s hips propped up in the air, his ass exposed, his dick hard and Phil’s mouth right there in front of it, tongue out, teasing.

“Please,” he whimpers, wiggling a little, and Phil dives in.

It’s too much right away, hot and wet and all over, Dan’s breath stuttering and his brain shorting out. T makes sex so much more intense. Like his whole body has been reduced to the four centimetres of skin and nerves between his legs and the heat that’s been bubbling in his stomach all morning. Phil’s tongue is warm and broad, licking insistently against the underside of Dan’s dick, over and over, brushing against the wet slick entrance of his hole, and Dan clenches down on nothing.

“Want you inside me,” he says again, but this time Phil doesn’t tease him at all, just groans and nods against Dan’s dick before standing up and reaching towards the bedside table for the condom laying there. He rolls it on and presses the blunt head of his dick against Dan’s hole, then leans down to kiss Dan as he presses inside.

Dan tries to kiss back, but he doesn’t do much more than gasp against Phil’s mouth as he adjusts to the thick stretch inside himself. It’s almost more than he can handle for a moment, his whole body sparking, his brain unfocused, but then Phil pushes in a little further, slick and steady, and Dan groans, low in his chest.

“ _Fuuuck_.”

Phil’s head is hanging and his eyes are closed, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Sweat is beading up on his forehead, sticking to his hair, and the only natural thing for Dan to do it reach up and push it back. At his touch, Phil pushes his head into Dan’s palm like a cat.

“Is this okay?” he asks like he always does, his eyes still closed, his breath shallow but controlled, and Dan’s chest blooms with a warm golden fondness. He hooks his ankles together behind the small of Phil’s back and pulls him closer, exhaling slowly as he pushes further inside.

“Obviously yes,” Dan says, and then Phil doesn’t hesitate anymore.

Being fucked like this, beneath Phil, the weight of his body holding him down, makes Dan feel grounded and real. Phil inside him makes him forget that that hole shouldn’t really be there, that his body is off slightly from how he always imagines it. Before T sex didn’t always help - he had to be drunk usually, or tied up somehow, or horny out of his fucking mind, or else it made him feel worse - but now it scratches an itch that he can never quite get on his own. The steady slap of skin on skin is different and better than anything he does alone, and maybe it’s Phil, too, and how much Dan trusts him to see him as he is.

“Want - you on top,” Phil manages to grunt in between kisses that are mostly gasping breath and tongue. Dan groans and nods and groans again when Phil pulls out so they can readjust. The emptiness is always too sudden, always too soon. All he wants is Phil inside him again. “Get up to the pillows?”

Phil lays down on his back and Dan crawls over him, a knee on either side of his thighs. He’s breathless and wet and hard, opened up and aching. Phil’s dick bobs up eagerly in front of him. If he didn’t already have a condom on, Dan would probably go down on him, but as it is he just crawls his way forward, until his hands are resting on Phil’s chest. He lifts himself up and then adjusts so Phil’s pressing at his entrance again, a much better angle this time. When he sinks down his head falls forward and he whines in his throat.

“You’re too much,” Phil laughs breathlessly, dragging his hands up Dan’s chest and making Dan shiver. He can’t really feel it beyond pins and needles but he can _see_  it, the way Phil’s fingers spread out straight, nothing beneath them but skin and scars and breastbone. It’s hot and exhilarating and Dan rides Phil a little faster for it, his thighs starting to burn only a few minutes in.

Phil’s hand is pressed down and moving quickly against Dan’s dick, pushing the little head back and forth through the slick space between his index and middle fingers so it feels like Dan is fucking into something. Dan clings to Phil’s free hand and tips his head back and lets himself be loud.

He never used to be loud, before he started T. Before his voice changed, dropped into an octave that didn’t make him cringe. The noises he made - high and breathy, stuck in his throat - used to turn him off, make him shut down and go still. Eventually he ended up staying silent, his mouth hanging open and his fingers digging into Phil’s shoulders on the rare occasion he wanted to go further than second base. It wasn’t often.

Now, though - now he’s loud, and he loves it. His chest buzzes with how low he groans, and when Phil mumbles _say my name_  in his ear he does it without even thinking, without bothering to pitch his voice down. His hips move insistently back and forth against Phil’s, chasing the heat between his legs that does nothing but grow and grow.

He cries out when he comes, Phil’s fingers still rubbing hard on his dick, and his voice cracks. Phil grins, giggles breathlessly a little, pushes his thumb against the oversensitive head and makes Dan twitch.

“Fuck,” he groans, tipping forward and burying his face in Phil’s neck, his hips still rolling back and forth. It's so much - almost too much, deep within him, turning him inside out. “Oh, fuck, shut the fuck up, don't laugh at me you _asshole_ , oh my god - are you close?”

Phil’s fingers dig into Dan’s thighs, squeezing firmly as he presses in deep and shudders, gasping. It's been years and Dan knows all his tells by now, knows what to do even when his body is sluggish and sated already. He drags his hands up from Phil’s hips to his back, opens his mouth and bites gently on the side of his neck.

Phil gasps a little, pushes in hard, comes and clutches Dan through it. Dan relishes the way his bare chest feels against Phil’s, flat as a board, sternum to sternum.

“Shit,” Phil breathes, and loosens his hold. Dan sits up a little and exhales, then nods. Phil reaches down and holds the base of the condom so Dan can lift himself carefully off.

The emptiness is an ache for a moment, but then Phil tosses the tied-off condom into the bin next to his bed and holds his arms out.

“I need to go have a wee,” Dan whines, but he rolls down and presses his sweaty chest up against Phil’s. “It's hygiene, mate.”

“You can wee after we have a cuddle,” Phil mumbles, his arms snaking back up to settle around Dan’s waist. He always falls asleep so fast. His eyes are already closed, his head half on and half off of a pillow.

“Beast.”

“Mm.” Phil turns his head and sinks his teeth gently into the soft flesh of Dan’s forearm. Dan wrinkles his nose and pushes his other arm down Phil’s side.

“Let me up, please,” he says politely. Phil sighs and unwraps his arms from Dan’s waist. “You're so clingy. I’ll be back.”

 

 

The bathroom light is very bright, washing Dan’s face out, but he's still sort of glowing when he looks at himself in the mirror. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are sparkling even as his eyelids droop. His bare chest is flat and flushed. He stares at his reflection for a little too long, still not quite used to the dark red scars and the planes of himself, at the other-universe Dan who he’s only just now starting to really know.

Top surgery had been hard. A dragged-out process and a long recovery, painful and dreadfully boring. Dan doesn't leave the house much but after six weeks of minimal activity and no choice in the matter he'd been ready to punch a wall.

It had been worth it, though, and free of complications in the end. A guy he met at one of the group therapy sessions he was advised to attend before he got cleared for his operation had developed a hematoma and had to get a second surgery, and then a third. Dan is grateful his went so smoothly. One and done.

The scars carve across his chest from breastbone to almost-armpit, red and raised and badass. Dan kind of loves them. His fingertips rub at the strange numbness of the scar tissue absently, and he wonders how long it will take for the feeling there to return. An ftm subreddit somewhere is sure to know.

He takes a piss and washes his hands and splashes water over his face, still flushed hot. There's a lovebite on his left shoulder. A yawn tugs at his jaw. He's shattered, already, although the day has only just begun.

On his way back to bed he hesitates at the doorway to the kitchen, tips his head in contemplation. There's a rolling grumble rising in his belly and he knows there are muffins waiting for him in a bag on the counter, coffee sitting ready to be brewed. He’ll get boyfriend points if he brings back breakfast. Phil might even go down on him again. Breakfast it is.

The kettle works quickly. It was a gift from Dan’s mum, whose caffeine addiction is possibly worse than Phil’s. While the coffee brews, Dan peels an orange, all of it coming off in one go. It's satisfying - even more so when he tosses the rind in a gentle arc towards the bin and it lands with a soft thud inside.

“You didn't come back!”

Phil’s voice is sudden and Dan whirls around, his hands flying up to hide his bare chest defensively. It’s a knee-jerk reaction that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to shake.

“Jesus,” he says, lowering his hands and releasing the orange from his death grip. There’s juice all over his palm. He licks it and watches Phil’s eyes track the motion and smirks a little to himself.

“Good morning,” he says, slightly sing-song, and grabs the bag of muffins from the countertop. “I was going to bring you breakfast since I am the best person ever.”

“I bought those,” Phil objects, but then he spots the coffee brewing and his face lights up. “Coffee! You’re amazing. Well, no, I am, but.”

Dan makes a face at the pun. Phil comes all the way into the kitchen, reaching out to run his hand across Dan’s soft bare hip as he passes him and opens up the cupboard to get them mugs. They clink against each other when he sets them down, handle to handle. Dan pulls out a lemon poppyseed muffin and breaks off a piece of the top, then hands it to Phil, who hums in thanks and pops it into his mouth.

In all his younger self’s daydreams, between the space battles and monster hunts and quests for ancient relics, he had always had this moment. Standing in his kitchen with the love of his life, quiet together, happy and safe. A respite against the world that screams so loudly, sometimes, and against the screaming fight that goes on in his head, too. And now it isn’t a daydream. Now he’s here, waiting with Phil for their coffee to brew because they like it just the same way, and it’s better than the happily-ever-afters he used to give himself before because it’s real. It won’t go away when he closes his eyes. If he keeps pushing himself it’ll only continue to get better.

“Bry texted me about that holiday again,” Phil says after they finish the muffin together. The kettle is nearly done. Dan pulls the milk out of the fridge, then rinses off the spoon already next to the sugar bowl and places it back on top. “What do you think? I’d quite like to go, I want to go swimming and see all the jellyfish like Wirrow was telling us.”

“You know those jellyfish are, like, incredibly poisonous and will really fucking hurt if you get too close?” Dan points out, because he doesn’t want to admit that his heart is kicking now, panic flaring slightly at the idea of being on a beach. Of bathing suits. Of being clocked, with his bright red scars.

But - the holiday proposed is months and months away. Vitamin E and scar cream will work wonders, Dan has watched enough trans guy youtube channels to know this. And he hasn’t gone swimming in almost a decade. The more he thinks about it, the better the beach starts to seem.

“Aw, but they’re so cute,” Phil pouts. The kettle goes. Dan pours them both coffee, then stirs milk and sugar into his. He refuses to assist Phil with his coffee because the amount of sugar Phil puts into his mug could probably kill a small child and Dan doesn’t want to be complicit in turning Phil’s blood into sludge.

“When you end up stuck in hospital the entire holiday because you couldn’t keep your hands off of some jellyfish, just know that I will laugh at you,” Dan says, pushing his coffee away so it can cool.

Phil, who is a freak who doesn’t care about burning his tongue and has had several sips already, gives Dan an unimpressed look over the rim of his mug. “Liar.” Then he sets down his coffee and wiggles his phone out of his trackie pocket, looking excited. “Oh, I can’t wait to swim. I’ll text Bryony back now.”

Dan nods and watches him tap out a response. His hand lifts to his chest absentmindedly, rubbing his thumb back against the outside end of the right scar. He wonders what people will think when they see him, if trans is what they’ll jump to or if there’s something else that they’ll assume.

‘It’s gonna be weird,” he says, and Phil looks up from his phone, his eyebrows pushing up in concern. When he sees Dan’s hand on his chest he stands up and reaches out, pulling him in for a hug. His skin is warm and his pulse is steady and he smells just slightly, beneath the sweatiness of sex and sleep, like his stupid raspberry bodywash.

“What, with these?” he asks, and Dan nods, “Well, who cares.” His fingertips move slowly across Dan’s bare ribs. Now that he's allowed again, Phil touches him all the time. There's hardly a moment at home where Phil isn't hands-on somehow. “If anyone asks just tell them you've fought a tiger.”

In the warm morning light, Dan’s heart swells. Fondness kicks in his throat. His fist tightens slightly in the neck of Phil’s t-shirt.

“And did I win the fight or lose?” he asks. His voice is so, so low. He relishes it. He doesn't think it’ll ever get old.

Phil laughs and pushes Dan back against the counter, his hands sliding down from Dan’s ribs to his hips. Their mouths hover close. Dan shifts a little and runs his hand down Phil’s back and sighs.

“I mean,” Phil says, and bumps his forehead against Dan’s, his eyes wide and slightly crossed, “you’d lose against a tiger, probably.”

Dan says, “ _Oi_.”

“You would!” Phil laughs, and kisses right between Dan’s eyes. “But it would be a brave fight. And you would win my eternal admiration.”

“Your eternal admiration,” he says with a laugh. Phil kisses him firmly on the mouth. Dan keeps laughing through it. “Mm. As if I haven’t already got that. You’re the weirdest person.”

Phil kisses him once more, then steps back toward the stove, pulling Dan with him. Dan sighs and follows, pliant and happy.

“You love it,” Phil reminds him.

Dan smiles, presses a kiss to the back of Phil’s hand. “Shut up, I hate you.”

It's so mad. It's so mad that this is Dan’s life: this London flat, this beautiful boyfriend, this body that’s feeling more and more like home. All of the world is open to him now. His scars are fading and his future is bright.


End file.
